Mood Music
by The Muses of Mars
Summary: Hoping for a little action, Crowley puts on some music to set the mood. But he and Aziraphale have vastly different tastes. Ineffable Husbands Week, Day 1 Prompt: "Music."


"Crowley, wait," Aziraphale mumbled against the lips hungrily kissing his mouth. "Wait, Crowley." Crowley did not wait. Aziraphale felt the demon's mouth trail lower as the other man's face pressed against his neck. Crowley's arms were around him, hands grasping gently. And his hips were… "S-stop, I said!"

"…Hrm…?" Crowley's wordless question was muffled against Aziraphale's throat. He blinked slowly as if coming out of a daze as he drew back and his golden eyes focused on the angel's face.

"…Crowley," Aziraphale said again, pressing his palm firmly against the other man's chest.

"Oh—got it." Crowley licked his lips, finding them swollen and tender, and drew back. He'd been so into it, he hadn't even realized that he'd pinned the angel down on his black leather sofa until Aziraphale had snapped him out of it. "Too fast?" he assumed. "I didn't mean to… I just wanted to kiss you."

Aziraphale sat up the instant there was enough space between them to do so, then set about adjusting his clothing. "It isn't that," he murmured, his face flushed and his collar feeling suddenly altogether too tight for comfort.

Sensing their rendezvous was about to come to a decided end, Crowley desperately sought for any words he could think of that would make the angel stay. "We don't have to… We can take a break for a bit. Can I get you something to drink? We can take a little time to cool down before we try again. Just the kissing," he added quickly.

Aziraphale gave him a half-hearted smile. "It's not that, Crowley. I was enjoying the…_everything._ I just… Well, I cannot concentrate with that noise droning on in the background!"

The serpent's eyes widened, then he hissed. "But that's George Michael," he said, bewildered. "_Careless Whisper_ is a classic. Doesn't it put you right in the mood? That sax is sexy, Aziraphale. The _sexiest_." Aziraphale seemed unconvinced. "Come on, it's _romantic_. You have to feel that it is."

"I don't like the lyrics." Aziraphale was seated with his hands resting on his lap, frowning and looking quite discomfited. "It… It's about _infidelity_." He whispered it like a dirty word. "That's not very romantic to me. Not romantic at all."

Crowley turned to face Aziraphale, drawing his legs up until he was kneeling. He took the angel's hands in his and lifted them to his lips and kissed his fingers, and Aziraphale only resisted a little. "Listen to me, Aziraphale," Crowley said, staring into the angel's eyes. Aziraphale seemed to have a hard time meeting his gaze, so Crowley reached up and cupped his cheek. "Look at me," he said softly, gently turning Aziraphale's face towards him while squeezing his hand. "The words don't mean anything. I was just trying to set the mood. Don't like them? Gone." He snapped his fingers and the music continued to play softly, without George Michael's mournful crooning.

Aziraphale's lips twitched as he almost smiled. "That's a bit better," he admitted.

"Then…can I kiss you again?" Crowley asked, unable to help sounding a little impatient.

"All right, then," Aziraphale said uncertainly.

The words were hardly out of his mouth before Crowley's hands were gripping his shoulders, pressing him eagerly back down against the cushions. Ignoring the soreness of his lips, Crowley resumed kissing the angel. Yet the song was still getting to Aziraphale.

"No, no. I still hear it." Aziraphale shook his head determinedly and Crowley drew back with a heavy sigh to let the angel sit up. "I'm sorry, Crowley, but I just can't!"

Crowley snapped his fingers again and the music shut off completely.

They sat there silently for a while, Aziraphale a little huffy and a little sorry and awkward all over; Crowley mostly frustrated, but not truly with Aziraphale.

"I think I should go," the angel said at last, slowly rising from the couch.

"Good idea." Crowley stood up. "I think I'll join you."

Aziraphale turned to Crowley with astonishment.

"This always happens when you come over," Crowley accused hotly. "I know it's not _me,_ so it must be my apartment that's killing the mood. So I say we go back to your place." He was already on his way to the door. "There's nowhere more romantic than a bookshop, really, if you think about it."

Aziraphale followed Crowley to the door and they donned their jackets. He looked rather pleased. "I'll make tea."

"Wine will do. And we can listen to whatever music you like. Or none at all, if you prefer."

The angel's cherubic face beamed as Crowley held the apartment door open for him.


End file.
